Author: CW
Rating: PG
Summary: Toby's balls are broken. CJ has faith.
Spoilers: Season 5, and all the ones previous to it. So all of them really. But nothing actually spoilery really.
Author's Note: Plot bunny came from tww_words challenge of broken. This is me raging against season five, and John Wells. Vaguely CJ/Toby if you want to take it that way. Angsty.

�Toby?�

He doesn�t look up, he doesn�t have to because he knows it�s her, but generally conversations with her are worth eye contact. Tonight though, he can�t be bothered with proper conversational etiquette and there�s this lingering little voice of a thought taunting him in the back of his mind saying he doesn�t want her to see his sad eyes. He chooses not to acknowledge that little voice though, the way he�s chosen to ignore it ever since Andy planted it into his head.

�Toby, what are you doing?� Her voice is light, but after years of conversations with her he can hear the subtle wisps of concern weighing her words down.

�What does it look I�m doing, CJ?� He asks, pointlessly, dancing around the inevitable conversation that they�ll wind up having.

�Well, Toby, it looks like you�re sitting in your office hours after getting off of work staring at a pair of,� she pauses as if unable to fathom what he�s staring at, �pink rubber balls.�

�The power of your observational skills are astounding,� He remarks, putting little effort into the sarcasm.

She acts like doesn�t notice his apathetic attempt at banter, and takes a seat on his couch.

�So what�s the deal with the balls, Sparky?� She asks, gazing at him with an expectant smile.

�I thought Sam was Sparky,� He comments, not wanting to do this.

�Well he was, but now he�s gone so you�ve been promoted to the nickname of Sparky.� She clarifies for him.

�Oh. Lucky me then.� He deadpans, and she laughs that little laugh of hers.

They spend the next few minutes in silence, as he tosses the balls from hand to hand. She waits, doesn�t prod him anymore. She knows the words will come like they always do with him. She knows he doesn�t fear words like most men. If anything, he fears not using words, she muses. Words are his ally in the Oval office when he�s arguing a point, his weapon when he�s writing a speech against whatever Republican policy they�re forced to duel with, and for all the times in between they�re his friend he can count on when he needs to communicate himself. He relies on them too much to risk loosing them by not using them. The words will come, this she knows for certain. It�s just the amount of stubbornness he�s currently feeling that she has to take into calculation. So she waits, watching the balls fly across the air, flicking her eyes back and forth like she�s a spectator at Wimbledon.

�My balls are broken.� He says finally.

�There are pills you can take for that you know.� She informs him, tongue in cheek, a last minute appearance of humor before she�s willing to relent to the impending serious discussion.

He looks up at this, and gives her a look generally reserved for Senators. The corners of his mouth, curl up into a little smile though, and that�s enough to get her laughing again and- not for the first time, he thinks someone should do a study on CJ�s laugh because it�s infectious, and sure enough he�s laughing right along with her.

They stop laughing eventually, and glowed in the aftermath of their amusement. It�s a happy moment of silence, the calm before the storm perhaps, and in that moment the stress of the job is temporarily gone from their bodies. It doesn�t last forever though.

�These,� He indicates to the rubber balls, �They used to work right. One bounce against that window and Sam would be here.�

He tosses one ball at the aforementioned window, and it makes a pleasant thudding sound upon contact and then bounces back into his waiting hand.

�Will, he took longer to adjust to the system. He caught on eventually though.�

Another toss, another thud, another perfectly anticipated catch.

�Toby�� She sounds distressed.

�They�re broken,� He repeats sullenly, placing the balls down on his desk.

�Toby,� She doesn�t really say his name that time, the syllables might connect to make the proper sounds necessary to be his name, but it�s not a word that she speaks but a sound of comfort.

�This administration is wallowing in the pits of self-pity CJ! Don�t tell me you don�t feel it, don�t tell me you don�t dread getting up each morning wondering what you�re going to have to face next. Piece by piece someone broke us down. Rosslyn! The MS thing! Sam! Zoey!� He finally lets it go, each word filled with more malice then the last.

�And now Will,� She guesses, not meeting his eye, which answers his question.

�Yes, �and now Will!� He snaps, hands rubbing his head in persistent frustration.

�So the big bad powers that be made life tough for us! We�re just going to let the cookie crumble like that! We�re going to accept defeat, just like that, because your balls are broken! It�s that bad!� She protests, an old but familiar feeling of fiery spirit warming her blood.

�I�m tired CJ, and so are you, and so are Leo and the President and we�re just not going to catch our second wind this time because we�ve been pushed down one time too many. They took all the things that gave us hope away from us, and now everything is broken. You can�t fix something that�s hopeless, that�s why it�s called hopeless!� He says, in that passive aggressive way he has of yelling without actually raising his voice.

The fire simmers weakly in her veins, staggering under his weighted words.

�Let Bartlet Be Bartlet!� we said, �Bring it on� we said, and once upon a time we said, �Decisions are made by those who show up!� Don�t tell me we said those things in vain! Don�t tell me that it�s hopeless! They call it hopeless because they�ve given up finding something else to call it. Don�t tell me that Toby Ziegler can�t find a word, you�re too good to be one of those people who gives up Toby!� She protests.

She strikes a nerve here, of course. She didn�t intend to go there, didn�t mean to question his skills as a wordsmith. But she�s already said it, and she can�t take it back no matter how much the look on his face makes her wish she could.

He�s stuck for a moment, hands somehow having gone from massaging his head to covering his ears, as the dull pulse of fear goes through him as her words echo around in his head. He can�t deny he doesn�t worry about it, doesn�t fear waking up one day with a permanent case of writers block, doesn�t always have a constant paranoia that one day someone will tell him his speeches just don�t have �it� any more. He can�t and won�t deny he doesn�t think about it, but no one had ever asked him to deny it. Until now.

�Maybe I�m-� He starts, but stops not knowing where to go from there.

�You�re not broken, Toby!� She says with such certainty, he almost believes her.

�What am I then?�

�You�re having a crisis of faith.� Again, certainty rings clear with each syllable.

�Like you�re such an authority on faith.� He shoots her down.

�Maybe I don�t wear mine on my sleeve like you do, but at least I don�t abandon it so easily!� She retorts heatedly, and something dangerous lingers in the air.

�I�m not abandoning it. It abandoned us! They abandoned us!� He protests, �What on earth can you have faith in any ways? The president who lied to us, and never was strong enough to act on his convictions? The chief of staff whose vices and desire to deal with a problem by killing it hurt the administration? The deputy chief of staff who�s haunted by his mind too much to ever be a leader? The two deputy communication directors who left us for better things! What on earth in this building can you have faith in!� He rages.

She smiles a small, knowing smile, and before the words even leave her lips he knows what�s coming.

�Us.�

�I asked for that,� He relents, pushing at the wrinkles of skin on his forehead.

�Yes.� She agrees, still smiling.

�Still, CJ they don�t make pills for faith.� He says.

Her smile widens at the reference.

�We�ll be OK, Toby. I know it, and you know how I know it. We�re just having a little crisis, and I�ll admit things don�t look that good but as long as there�s faith we�re not broken.� She tells him, and she gets up to leave.

�I�d prefer a pill,� He mutters.

She starts to laugh again, and her laughter echoes around his office as she makes for the exit. He thinks again that there certainly must be more then enough reasons as to why they should be spending taxpayer money on a study of Claudia Jean Cregg. Then, with a sign, he tosses the rubber balls into the trash, and gets up to follow her without out giving them a second glance.

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